“Madame, you shall hear. Of your courtesy I would ask you to look at this ring.” He gave her the ring that he had taken from Merlin’s hand, and she held it in her palm, her eyes growing suddenly troubled. “It is my son’s ring.” She looked steadily at Knollys. “Sir, I charge you—tell me, has anything evil befallen my son?” “Madame, my news does not run that way. No harm has come to the King through this ring, save the harm that he has done to his own soul and to my honour. I pray you, let my Lord of Salisbury see it.” She passed it to Salisbury, her pride rising. “How came you by this ring, Sir Robert?” “I took it this day from the hand of a dead man—a man who had been sent out to murder, but had been slain by him whom he was to murder.” “What mean you?” “Madame, I will tell you why my honour is sorely wounded, as is the honour of my Lord Salisbury and all those who counselled the King. Was it not but yesterday that a certain young man saved this kingdom? Did he not keep faith with us, and did not we pledge ourselves to keep faith with him?” Her eyes darkened as she heard him. “Sir Robert Knollys, I judge that I am no coward. If some shameful thing has happened, let us have the truth, and that quickly.” “Madame, when the Devil gets to work, the wrath in a man is apt to rage. Need I tell you how Fulk Ferrers and Isoult of the Rose were sent secretly to the Black Mere? The King knew it. Whether another tempted him I cannot say, but a certain Franciscan led some thirty rogues thither. Wit and bold fighting saved Fulk Ferrers. The friar was slain in the fight, and on his finger was the King’s ring.” She sat stiffly in her chair, bleak-faced and horror-stricken. “Is this possible?” Her eyes wandered towards Fulk, and Knollys understood the look. “Madame, it is he. Forgive him if he is bitter against his own half-brother.” For some moments the Princess sat rigid, staring at nothing. Then she spoke in a slow, toneless voice. “Let him draw near.” When Fulk Ferrers looked on the Princess’s face a sudden great and chivalrous pity stirred in him. The look in her eyes slew the bitterness in him. “Fulk Ferrers, let me see your face.” He put his vizor up, and, going on one knee, bent his head to her. “Madame, it seems that I have brought you evil when I would have brought you good.” Her eyes flashed. “Look up. Ah, how strange! Should I not hate you, Fulk Ferrers, with all the strength of the woman in me?” He answered her simply. “Hate me, Madame, if it eases your heart. For, somehow, you have put all anger out of me.” She looked at him intently. “Why has God given you what my son has not? Had not his father courage? Am I a coward? Oh, it is bitter!” She strove with herself, and her face grew beautiful as her calm pride won the day.